Arkham's Calling
by InterestinglySherlock
Summary: Bruce wakes up to find himself locked in a cell at Arkham, and doesn't know why. Is he crazy? Is there someone else pulling the strings here?
1. The End of the Night

_Tip, tap. Tip, tap._

The sound of dripping grew louder in his ear.

_Tip, TAP, TIP, TAP._

His eyes shot open, though in the dim light there was only a faint red glow from various recessed lightings in the hallway. The tapping had come from the leaky faucets on a hideously dirty sink in the corner of the room.

Red light?

Sink?

_Hideously dirty_?

His breathing grew fast and shallow.

This was _not_ his bedroom. Nor his home. Nor the couch or some other portion of his home that he had accidentally fallen asleep in.

Panic threatened to shoot through him but he kept himself steady. There was no need for panic to mess with one's mind. A clear head was needed.

First things first—it was dark and hard to see where he was. He was on some sort of meager cot, from the feel of it, rough clothing—_very_ rough clothing, in fact. As his eyes adjusted to the strange surroundings, a sickening feeling began rising from the bottom of his stomach, and a sour taste grew in his mouth.

He recognized the feel of these clothes. His hands brushed the rough cloth on his chest where there was some label…he knew what that label was. He realized where he was.

Bruce Wayne was in a cell at Arkham Asylum.

And he did not remember how he got there.

Now it was the time to panic. Just a little.

He got up, immediately thankful that there were no restraints on him. The cell was medium sized, with a little table, a cot, a toilet and a sink. There were no other objects, which meant that whoever had put him here knew his identity as Batman and his ability to use even the tiniest object as means of escape.

He got up, pressing his hands on the large, clear window that made up one wall of the entire cell, realizing he was probably on the back end max-security wing, along with…

…everybody else. He realized with even more mounting sick dread, that he had been so satisfied at putting away Joker, Two-Face, Ivy—mostly everybody—recently and now they were all here. With him.

He wasn't sure yet how it all happened, there were no orderlies walking down the empty hallway and he couldn't see who was across from him even thorough the glass door. Instead he sat back down on the meager cot with a sigh, trying to douse the sick feeling in his stomach.

Bruce couldn't remember how he had gotten here. The last thing he remembered—

--what was the last thing he remembered? It was all so disjointed…something about going on patrol, Alfred telling him—_something_—it was just jumbled. He didn't know what day it was…what week…he knew it was probably October but with the state of mind he had right now he wasn't sure if he should trust himself.

If his identity was revealed, why would they stick him in Arkham and not just jail? How did he get caught, anyway?

He buried his head in his hands, trying to think and sort the mess.

_Why would they put you in Arkham unless you were crazy?_

_I'm not crazy_.

_Well, guess they thought Joker needed the company then?_

_I'm NOT crazy!_

_You don't have the best record in the world for stability, either._

_How did I get here? Why can't I remember? I'm not crazy. _

You ARE talking to yourself, you know.

He slammed his fist into his pillow, making the cot reverberate loudly. But Bruce had to wonder, in a corner of his mind, that maybe the reason he couldn't remember, maybe the reason why he was here and so confused, was…maybe he was crazy.

But that was just crazy talk.

* * *

And thus ends Chapter the First. How did Bruce get here? What happens when daylight comes and the inmates wake up to find a new special friend for them to play with? What day is it, anyway? Find out here next time, same Bat-time...same...anyway. I'll stop. XD 


	2. Twice the Fun

"Time ta wake up, ya loonies!"

The voice reverberated on the walls and Bruce's eyes flew open. He had been so paranoid that he had stayed awake, though it seems that just then he had dozed off. It didn't matter. He had gone on longer with more fatigue and now he was wide awake and energized with the adrenaline pouring through him. A bead of sweat ran down his head. He was rarely scared, he used fear against others and now it was being shot back towards him with a fat fist in the shape of a straightjacket. Was it some kind of joke?

Jokes were often a bad omen in this business.

In any case, he pushed his conspiracy theories down deep to muse over later. The orderlies were making their way up the hallway with the breakfast carts and fresh laundry. Time to get some answers.

"Well, lookie what we have heah, eh, Jonsey?" A short, dark-haired orderly stopped his cart in front of the cell and poked at the glass door. "Our newest pal. Brucie, buddy, it's gonna be nice gettin' to know yah."

Bruce, he called him Bruce. Did that mean they did not know…

"Nah, he's a scary sort," the taller, blond woman next to him laughed. She had a thin, almost modelesque figure but her face was pockmarked and wrinkled. "Batman isn't one fer makin' friends, now, is he? Isn't that right, darlin'?"

Bruce slammed his fist against the glass door and they both jumped back, their easy-going manner disappearing beneath widened eyes of fear.

They knew. They KNEW!

And Bruce could not figure out how and why. But he would. Oh, he would.

"Youse isn't gonna have any problems now, is yah, Batsy?" A guard that had been previously hidden before, standing his back against a further wall turned around, looking inhuman and steely, covered in Kevlar and donning a SWAT helmet. High security. A welcome change from the usual, hefty rent-a-cop type, Bruce thought ironically. They upped the security for him, finally. What a twist.

"What's going on?" Bruce traded his intimidation card for a good answer.

"Youse is gonna get breakfast, that's what's going on," the robotic-looking guard said with an audible chuckle. "Widout any incident. Kapeesh?"

"Tell me what happened. I don't…" he bit his lip, not wanting to show weakness in front of the likes of them. And who else was watching.

"I don't remember."

The three exchanged glances, of a slight fear or amusement, it was hard to tell. In any case, they decided they didn't want to poke fun at such a dangerous man and the orderlies carefully shoved food in the slot on the side wall.

"Youse is gonna have an appointment wid a doctor t'day, Mistah Wayne," the guard said in a civil tone.

Bruce didn't answer but instead retrieved his food from the slot and took it to his table grudgingly. There was nothing on the plate and box of milk that could help in escape, either. Made with Styrofoam and biodegradable fiber, all was edible without even a plastic utensil. He chomped on his muffin silently until he heard a voice through the slot.

"Hey…psst. Hey!"

Curious, he turned to the side wall near his cot, the slot being a simple hole that turned from his left wall in a curve forward so that an outsider could shove things through. It was about waist high, and Bruce knelt down so he could hear properly.

"I'm in da odda cell. The voice carries through the wall. It's Harl."

"Harley?" Bruce's voice turned lower, almost a growl. It was Batman's voice, not Bruce's. He did not want to deal with an aspect of his other life as Bruce. He would meet this as Batman, or not at all.

"Yeah. Are youse really Bruce Wayne?" The voice came as a girlish giggle.

"What?"

"Batsy. Everybody's sayin' you're really that cutie, Brucie. I couldn't see ya when dey brought ya in so…I gotta know!"

Should he answer her?

"Tell me what happened."

"What, don't tell me ya don't remember a thing like that, Batsy? Maybe ya did go off the deep end. Welcome to da club!" She giggled again.

"Tell me!" The voice was a harsh growl and the sound of the orderlies' cart shaking came through the hall.

"Jeez, ya don't hafta be so grumpy. Ya never can take a joke, Batsy, dat's your problem," she sounded huffy.

"But I suppose I oughta be nice to yer and everythin' since we're now neighbors and all."

The sound of grinding teeth could be heard through the wall.

"Wellps, I don't remember much cuz it was kinda late. But I saw dem cartin' you off in onna dem hospital carts…stretchers, that's whacha call 'em. Yeah, dey brought you here in dat cart and set you down. I heard someone tawkin' bout how messed up you were, I dunno if dey's was talkin' injuries…"

Bruce didn't have much injury on him at the moment except a few odd bruises and a scrape.

"…Or mentally," she giggled a bit eerily. She was certainly taking pleasure in him now being at the same level as her, or so it seemed, anyway.

"Harley, tell me everything!"

"Dat's all I know, I sweah!" She sounded a bit honest, but one never knew. "Come on, Batsy, if I knew more I'd rub it in, cuz it sounds juicy ter me and I'm dyin' to know too!"

"Fine. Who knows, then?"

"Ya got an appointment wid one of da doctors. Not da head honcho, weirdly enough. I mean, I woulda thought dat if da Bat himself was captured _I _woulda loved to be his doc—anyway ya probably got my doc. Most of us on dis wing have Doc. Sheila James, a new one, actually."

She paused. "She's a specialist on _paranoid _schizophrenia an' split personalities." Harley pronounced _schizophrenia_ perfectly and without any accent, a byproduct of her old life as a psychologist.

_Nice_, Bruce thought to himself. _Just perfect._

"So tell me, Batsy. Are ya really Bruce Wayne?"

"Why ask, Harl? You already know the answer to that."

"Huh?" she didn't get it. It slowly dawned. "Wait…wait a sec. Are ya sayin' dat you really _are_ Brucie? You are?"

"Harley, finish your muffin."

She lapsed into silence, maybe she did listen to him.

He sighed, leaning back hard against the wall, sliding down it and landing on the floor with a thump. His identity, exposed. Ending up at Arkham. Not knowing why. Would it have made it easier if he knew why? Maybe. Maybe not.

Bruce turned his head to look out the glass door, seeing the inmate of the cell directly across from him.

A face smirked back at him.

_Two_ faces smirked back at him.

"It _is_ satisfying," he said, his voice faint through both thick glass doors. Bruce was good at reading lips, and so was Harvey. Dent. Two-Face.

"Very satisfying to see you there. See who you really are and all that. Good show." He clapped his hands together like it was the end of some really good movie. "We never would have guessed. You are one excellent actor."

Bruce caught his own reflection in the glass. He looked ragged, disheveled, his hair was tousled and he had a good coating of stubble. Like they would let him shave by himself. His eyes looked so dark, there were tired rings around them. But they did not hold the eerie glow of insanity. Or at least he liked to think so.

"So, _Bruce_, nice to see you're across from us. Ah, I don't think I'll get used this," Two-Face smirked with a laugh. "And neither will I. _Batman. Bruce._ _Two_. And you think _we _have problems. Well, my friend, we both are _two_ of a kind."

He laughed again, flipping a coin—no, a cut-out circle of Styrofoam from his plate. Guess the habit was hard to kick.

"Shut up, Harvey."

He did not, in any means, want to be compared to Two-Face in this place. He knew that Harvey had a point, he did have two lives, but he always thought of himself as Batman, not Bruce. He knew who he was.

He hoped.

There was always an inner struggle whenever he was Batman. Despite shrugging off the persona of Bruce Wayne, always confirming that indeed it was just a mask to get things done, Batman often did things that Bruce had second guesses about. Sometimes he had to catch himself before he did something that he would regret. _Then_ there would be a struggle between the two. Bruce wasn't just a mask, despite the way he thought about it. It was half of who he was whether he denied it or not. That evil little thought kept worming its way into his head as Two-Face smirked at him.

"Hey, I'm trying to be genial here, and you're biting my head off," the scarred man said with his more normal 'Harvey' voice. He looked down and muttered with his harsher 'Two-Face' voice. "Biting _my_ head off too. Ya hypocrite. You're just like both of us. I knew Batman had to have _some _kind of stupid secret identity but this just takes the cake. Heh."

"Keep saying it to make yourself feel better, _Harvey_. I don't care."

"Sure you do, Batman. Or you wouldn't even bother answering me. I know what you're feeling right now. Oh, I know it better than most," 'Harvey's' voice answered. "You're trying to figure out if you're really a nutter or not. You're trying to think and double-guess yourself. You're trying to figure out—now that they know me, who am I really? Am I Bruce? Or Batman? Or neither? Or both? I sympathize with you, Bat-Bruce, I really do."

Bruce didn't say anything; he just gritted his teeth again and ignored the supposed maniac in the cell across from him. If he wasn't nuts already, this _place_ would drive him nuts. He needed a clear head and didn't need to talk with this bunch. He had to calculate and think of the facts.

Okay, he didn't remember things so good. Last thing he knew he was on some patrol on some random day that seemed like most, and he woke up here. It was fall. He had his health, so it wasn't that bad of a situation.

Who was he kidding? He was no optimist. This _was _a bad situation.

Facts. Right, facts. _Keep your head together_. In this place, that was a bit more difficult than usual. Escape. There had to be a means of escape. But with his identity exposed, what was the point? Where would he go? The cave? It was probably already crawling with police. He had no time to put into place his contingency plans to cover up his tracks at the cave—

Wait, he had no time?

He thought hard. The memory had dimmed and he couldn't retrieve it. He didn't like this, didn't like being in control of his own head, much less the situation. He was a self-proclaimed control freak and in this situation, it was almost driving him nuts not being able to control _anything_.

Wait, bad imagery. Scratch the 'nuts'.

Bruce ran his hands through his dark, tousled hair, making it all the more messy. A few more minutes in this place and he would look the part of a loony.

Arkham wasn't the most impossible place to escape from, lesser capable individuals than him had been able to escape and with a few resources and the right amount of time, Bruce was sure he could get out.

At least, he hoped so. He glanced out the glass door, vague shapes of max-seck guards on the edges of his available vision. There were more, no doubt. The lights had been dimmed on slowly to mimic the natural sun, though there were no windows here, of course.

"So, _Bruce_, what do you think of your little predicament, huh? Humor us," Two-Face had reclined in his own cot lazily. "We're dying to know what's going through your twisted little head."

"I don't care to _tell you, Harvey_," he muttered back, still sitting on the floor.

Harvey's voice came through.

"So rude. Really. No reason for it. As Bruce you were always such a nice guy. Dim, dumb, woulda never guessed. You were my friend as Bruce back then. Sure, we've had a falling out or two," he grinned, not at all a nice look for the destroyed part of his face.

"But I'm willing to forgive and forget since we feel kinda sorry about you. Bat, Bruce. Ha…we amuse ourselves so easily. Gotta quit hanging around the Joker."

"He's _here_?" Bruce turned his head finally and acknowledged Two-Face, getting up and pressing his hands to the thick glass door. Last he remembered…he wasn't sure but…a vague instance of Joker not being in Arkham has seemed to float up. This whole semi-amnesia thing was getting on his nerves, big time.

"Oh yeah. Brought in the night you came in. Last night," Two-Face realized he had Bruce in the palm of his hand and enjoyed it. Those that craved power and were denied it in such a place like this would take any chance they got to hold on to a little bit.

"Yes, brought in probably the same time. Probably."

"Quit playing games, Harvey. What happened? I…don't remember much."

"Ha! You don't remember? Nice. Real nice. Maybe the psychs did a job on you or something, you know. One of those electro shock therapies or fun stuff like that."

"_Harvey_!" Strong fists slammed against the glass door and the guards around him immediately tensed up, he heard the sounds of guns being armed. He counted six in the gloom before they disappeared back out of his sight. They were doing it on purpose, keeping him guessing so he couldn't prepare himself, watch them and guess what sort of weaponry they had on them, etc.

"Temper. You were never like this as old Bruce. Kinda miss the dumb cluck," Two-Face grinned, patting down his own rough Arkham clothing.  
"But we'll be the nice guys that we can be. From what we can _recall_, we saw a big commotion going on around midnight. Not sure, they don't keep clocks around here, as you can tell. Joker came in first and they locked him in the usual max-seck cell, and all that great stuff. The word had been going around, it was on TV and everything, and we didn't get to see it in the common room that day so it must've been late evening. We put our bets that you were captured in the afternoon and brought here late evening."

Despite his blatant insanity, Harvey had been a superb lawyer and a very smart man, and from time to time his old prowess showed through. Especially during particularly hard schemes to track down.

"In any case, word had made its way before you were brought here, of who you really were. This whole place was in an uproar."

A slight laugh. "Joker goin' nuts cackling like the loon he is. He obviously had something to do with it. So it was pretty late when they brought you to this cell. It had been holding some minor killer, some low Mafioso that was kinda violent. Anyway they moved him and they dragged you in on some stretcher and there we go, there you are."

Bruce shook his head. "That doesn't tell me anything."

"Hey, I feel for you, Bruce, I really do. Well, _I _don't. _I_ do." The struggle on Harvey's face was creepy to watch, it was almost like both sides were actually fighting each other. He literally twitched. He was quiet for a moment, then began again.

"…Um…well, it was a bit strange for all of us to find out who you really were. This place had never buzzed with this much gossip before."

Bruce remembered Harley's strangely giddy conversation. Well, she was usually like that, anyway.

He turned away from the insane, scarred man, staring at the blank, blah-colored wall in front of him, losing himself in his own thoughts. The orderlies would know the whole story. The supposed doctor that was going to see him knew. The guards knew. If he could just get to a TV, he could jog his memory.

If he could just see a familiar face—well, a face that wasn't insane, anyway—he could jog his memory. Because he really shouldn't be here. He really wasn't crazy. It was important for him to keep thinking this way, despite that horrible little voice in the back of his head that wondered if he was just in denial.

"It's been one heckuva month, Bruce," Two-Face's voice drifted towards him.

_A month_?

"What?"

"That was a month ago, all of that," the man obviously enjoyed having Bruce on the palm of his hand.

"_What?_" A rare tinge of emotion raced through the word, he regretted showing it in front of Harvey.

"You were brought in just last night to this cell, 'course, but you were brought to Arkham a month ago. Yeah, they must've kept you in the hospital wing or something. We place our bets on the whole 'lectro-shock therapy fun stuff, that's why you can't remember anything. Or maybe you were in a coma from something. We dunno."

"But the bruises, they're still fresh—"

Harvey shrugged. "The orderlies can be rough, you know. Seriously, Bruce our buddy, don't you think that you'd carry a few more injuries if you were _just_ brought in? You're fine and dandy right now."

"But…what about a trial, then? It doesn't make sense—"

"Trial's probably in January, didn't watch the news recently," Harvey shrugged. "They're keeping you here because they figure you're a nutter like the rest of us. A danger to others. Yourself. Well, not as much or you'd be bolted down to your little bed. We didn't know when you'd be brought down here with us, everyone's been just _dying_ to talk to you."

Bruce knocked his head against the wall several times, out of frustration more than anything else. The memory loss was the most disturbing part, because the electro-shock therapy would explain it. Why would he even _need_ something like that if he was just _brought in_? If Batman was captured, he'd most likely be sent off to jail. If someone _wanted _to capture him, that was. There was a bigger player in all of this, that was for certain. Someone was pulling the strings. That's why Two-Face was across from him. To rub it all in. Bruce was getting pretty paranoid, and he tried to stop the fear that was inching up from the deepest part of his stomach. No being paranoid in here, he told himself, though it did no good.

"Hey Wayne!"

A very burly male…nurse, as it was, was slamming his fist against the glass door.

"Yeah?"

"You got a visitor."

* * *

Who is this strange visitor? Who's going to pick up the trash from breakfast? Did Harley like her muffin? Be here, same Bat-time, same…

…okay, it's getting old. XD

Hope you're enjoying so far, and thanks for the reviews.

I got the inspiration for this story from various sources, but I've always wanted to write (or read) something in which Batman was stuck in Arkham. I love exploring his duality and have read a few comic stories in whichone really has to wonder about his sanity. XD This doesn't take place in any particular specific point of the Bat-continuity, except that Tim is Robin, Dick's Nightwing, and Cass is Batgirl.

A couple years ago in this one sociology class I had we watched this one 1950ish movie in which this one lady was in a mental hospital. It began where she was sitting on a bench, not really knowing why and a couple voices in her head were talking to her and making her paranoid, and a nurse comes out of nowhere and leads her back to the hospital, and she doesn't remember how she got there or why she was there, she didn't recongize the nurse or anything. After a few horrible electroshock therapy sessions, she slowly began to remember her life. I wish I knew the title to this movie, it wasso good and we didn't finish it for some reason.

Also there is this excellent book called Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison, in which the main character endures some horrible electroshock treatment that was probably an experiement, and he couldn't remember anything for a few days afterwards.

That's about all I know about all of this, and...meh, I'm pretty much taking artistic license with everything else. I'll try to upload soon and all that.


	3. Visiting Hours

"The distance between insanity and genius is measured only by success."--**Bruce Feirstein**

"What?"

Bruce got up, wondering who in the world they would let in this wing to visit him. Certainly not a reporter, if he really was considered nuts then he could do whatever he wanted to said reporter if they so tried anything, he thought amusedly.

"Yeah. Make that two visitors. Jeeves and a kid. Here they come."

Gordon must've pulled some strings or something. Someone with power, that was for sure. Or perhaps another sick joke from whoever was playing this little game. Rubbing it in.

There was practically a military-like contingent around Alfred and Tim as they walked down the hallway, guards shielding them from view against the inmates lest they become future targets. They all stopped in front of Bruce's cell, though the three knew the glass door wouldn't be opened, even for something like this. They were wearing casual clothes, though Alfred had opted for a more formal polo shirt ensemble. Tim was wearing a thick red jacket, meaning it must be cold already outside.

"Oh, Master Bruce, I'm so sorry," the older man's kind face fell when he got a good look at the state of Bruce. He never wanted to see that sort of look on Alfred's face again. Tim had his mouth open, either in shock or in sympathy.

"I'm so sorry this happened."

Bruce pressed his forehead against the glass, realizing his memory wasn't coming back at all despite the familiar faces. He rested his arm above his head against the glass, his hand balled into a fist.

"Me too."

"You okay…in there?" Tim ventured cautiously, as if he wasn't sure how to talk to Bruce.

"Food's as bad as they complain it is," he muttered wryly, a bit of humor to make Tim feel better. It worked, the horrified mask fell away from the kid's face and he smirked a bit.

"We've brought you a few things," Alfred said in his _business_ voice.

"They have got it in their little 'containment' area until they deem it free from sharp objects and creative ways for you to use it to escape."

"Thank you."

"Alfred…" Bruce's voice cracked. Ugh. How he hated emotion coming through when he least expected it.

"Alfred, I'm not crazy."

"Of course you aren't, Master Bruce." Something in Alfred's eyes gave the lie away. _That_ put a chill down his spine.

"No, really, Alfred. It's…" Bruce knew that if could confide in anyone, it was Alfred. The guards were so close, though. They could hear.

"Can we talk in private?"

"Afraid that's out of the question, unless the doctors sign a waiver," one of the SWAT helmets replied.

"Forget it," Bruce muttered. Ah well, this place never really would allow any kind of privacy anyway. So strange to find oneself on the other side of the equation.

"Alfred, I need your help. I can't remember anything except waking up this morning in this cell. I don't remember what happened last, or how I got here, how I got captured, or anything. _Why_ am I in _Arkham_?"

"Oh, Master Bruce," the look on Alfred's face was positively heartbreaking. "I shall write you a letter of all of it. Perhaps we can jog your memory. I'm so terribly sorry for all of this. You just concentrate on…getting well."

"Yeah," Tim looked a bit haunted under his short, dark hair.

"It'll be…it'll be alright."

He suppressed another involuntary shiver at the tone of their voices. Like they didn't expect him to _be _well. "I can't get any answers in here," Bruce placed his hands on the glass window, and Tim absentmindedly placed his hand over Bruce's right. "For once…I don't know what to do."

"Don't give up, Master Bruce," Alfred said sternly.

"There's no need to think that way, young man. No need at all."

Bruce gave a rare half-smile, and for the first time that day, felt a little bit better at this semblance of normalcy. Bruce feeling bad, Alfred propping him back up.

"Well, I'll try."

"That's the spirit."

"So how are you all getting along? Everyone knows about…it."

"We just dealt with it, really. I mean we've had a few break-ins at the mansion and the first week was just insane, we had three arsonists and finally Dick had to just come back and protect the mansion for a few days instead of patrolling, they finally got the message…" Tim muttered weakly with a sad grin. "A couple of…_friends_ have come around to keep the really dangerous ones away, I think I saw Flash once but he bolted… Canary comes over every other night with Huntress and they all really don't mind…Oracle called in every favor she had, Dick got the other Titans to keep a constant watch over us just in case and…it's not bad right now, all things considered that could have happened."

Bruce looked down. The elder kid's presence was sorely missing from this meeting.

"So…where _is_ Dick?"

Alfred and Tim exchanged looks. The younger ventured a response.

"He…uh, he didn't…I mean he couldn't come, Bruce."

It didn't take a Batman to know that the kid was lying.

"He doesn't want to come," Bruce figured it out easily, his mind still sharp despite the situation. He was a detective, through and through, and that was half of why he felt so helpless here. He couldn't figure anything out. It was all just a big jumble of random facts and he wanted answers, _now._

Alfred's mouth dropped open, as if he wanted to explain but protocol didn't call for it, or he didn't want to cause an adverse reaction in the already distraught man.

"Master Dick could not find the time, _today_, to come. I shall certainly make sure he _finds_ the time, in near future."

"I don't believe this," Bruce muttered darkly, feeling just a tad betrayed. Dick was his son, and he didn't want to come. Because if a family member was in trouble, one would certainly _find_ the time to come. Had he taught him nothing?

Or was he…ashamed? Couldn't bear to see his mentor—his father—in a mental institution? In the very place they put the ones they constantly battle against? Like a common—well, uncommon—criminal?

"Yeah, we'll drag him here. He's been busy, now that you're not out ther—" Tim slammed a hand over his mouth, realizing what he was just saying.

"I mean…I _didn't_ mean…it's, well, um…just a…uh, little rough out there right now and…and…yeah." The kid finished feebly and looked a bit embarrassed.

"And?" Bruce pressed.

"And so…well he's out there as Nightwing, anyway. It's been so obvious of who Batman is that the whole…mythos, urban legend and whatnot has kinda just went…" his thumb pointed down and he made a "Pppbbhhttt…" sound.

"But that doesn't take away from the fact that he's taking care of business so…" he shrugged weakly. "Me and Cass have been working double time ourselves so you really don't have to worry about it all…"

"It's been a month, right? I mean the way Harley was talking it was like yesterday…seemed like yesterday," there was still a suspicion in his heart that someone was behind all of this and was manipulating this whole thing.

"Well, you know her, she's a bit odd," Tim rolled his eyes.

"Just a bit, huh?"

"Yeah, we…Barbara, Cass, and us, we visited you a couple times before but you were unconscious," Tim replied nervously. "You were in a different wing, the medical place. They just called us today to say that you were well enough to…um…talk…to us. Babs couldn't come and neither could…well, I guess you're well enough. I mean you could use a shave, and all."

"Master Timothy, _really_."

Tim's words just poured out of him quickly and Alfred simply looked aghast at the crude way it was being broken to Bruce, like the guy had to be handled delicately from now on, lest he snap. Alfred was visibly uncomfortable and Tim was just itching to get out of there, Bruce could just see it.

The familiar eye glare.

"Stop talking to me like this, both of you. I'm still me. Whatever happened back then, maybe…maybe I'm _glad_ I don't remember it. But this is _me_, the same me that you saw the night before whatever happened, happened."

"You're absolutely right, Master Bruce, I'm terribly sorry and _so is Master Timothy_."

There was a withering glance from the elder man and a sheepish smile from the younger.

"Perhaps it is wise that we go now, allow you to get some rest. Whatever they allow you in this ghastly place. I shan't aggravate you with details of the legality to follow and whatnot, but…" Alfred looked down.

"But it's a hopeless case, is what you're saying."

"Can we never keep anything from you?" The old spark appeared like a candle coming to life in the old man's eye.

"Good day, Master Bruce, really do try and get better. We'll sort this mess out, you'll see. I know you may not be a practicing optimist, sir, but in times like these, hope is all we have."

Bruce's real smile appeared faintly, and he felt just a bit better from their visit.

"Take care," Tim pressed his hand up against the glass where his was. The kid had already lost a father, and was afraid he would lose another one, it was evident in his eyes.

"Hey, Tim. Listen to Alfred's optimism for me, will you?" He smirked up at the older man.

"One of us ought to."

"Yeah," Tim smiled.

"Yeah, I will."

The two looked at their fallen friend one last time before being whisked off by the guards, only the few smudgy fingerprints of Tim's was the only evidence that they had ever been there.

**

Thanks to all those that reviewed!

**


	4. Why don't you talk about it?

"Fear grows in darkness, if you think there's a bogeyman around, turn on the light."**--Dorothy Thompson**

Bruce slumped back down on the floor, his back against the wall, ignoring the actions of Two-Face who was obviously bored and wanted to talk. Bruce needed to think, needed to meditate and get a grasp on his situation here. It was reality for the moment, despite his suspicions that there was someone behind it all. He had considered briefly that this was a dream, but it had been so real, _felt _so real…and even if it was a dream, he certainly wasn't waking up from it anytime soon, so he had to deal with this reality right now, anyway. He had to deal with what cards he was dealt.

Especially the threat of the Joker card.

Why had they stuffed him in this wing, in the wing of his most dangerous enemies? For all the laws that he admittedly had broken, what he had done for the city surely would allow for some leniency in this regard. Ha, who was he kidding? This was no time--nor place--for wishful thinking, despite what Alfred said. He wanted to hope. Some part of him that had not been darkened by the events of his life desperately wanted to cling to some sort of ray of light.

Something. _Anything_.

But this was Arkham. This _was_ no place for thoughts like that. He had felt the trepidation from Alfred. He would rot here for the rest of his life among the enemies that he had placed here. Whatever event that had put him here, whether by his own hand or someone else's, had come and gone and he could change that, no matter how much he wanted to.

Bruce was right when he told Tim and Alfred—_he _was still here and sane, at least he liked to think so, he could reason and he knew what he was doing. He wasn't hearing any voices…well, unless you counted his conscience and the voice of Batman. He wasn't seeing pink elephants and certainly wasn't talking to himself like Two-Face was doing at the moment, though he knew a few more days here and he'd probably join him in the activity.

He was still _Batman_, despite the one of worst things that could have happened to him--save death--had happened.

And he had a wildcard up his sleeve that didn't consist of a crazy clown.

Bruce was going to break out.

He stared at the blah wall, realizing that he had decided it unconsciously and was now just realizing it. If his so called normal life was ruined anyway as Bruce Wayne, he needn't worry about the mask anymore. It was lost and he was glad of it. At least he supposed he was. Batman would not be daunted by this kind of place and he was considered a criminal now in his own right, so what was stopping him? If someone like Harley could get out, then it was practically an invitation for him to try, and an embarrassment not to.

But where could he go? Back to the cave? The manor? He'd just end up getting everyone else arrested. And that whole business with Dick was just troubling.

No time for emotional thoughts, put it aside.

He had to deal with this as coldly as possible, because if he even let an ounce of emotion get through, he would probably start…getting nervous. Scared maybe.

The part of him that he didn't admit was still Bruce Wayne as aghast at being held in an asylum. Second guessing himself. Maybe he _was_ crazy.

Maybe _Batman_ was crazy and _Bruce_ was the sane one, and Bruce was the one keeping his thoughts coherent. If he were to adopt the guise of the Bat it might unlock something and he would go off on a rampage or whatever he had done to place himself here.

He quickly shook off those thoughts. They _would_ lead to him thinking he had gone mad and he needed a clear head. Needed to control his fear. He was used to _that_, anyway.

There was no use in relocating to some other country. No desire to. His home was Gotham, whether living an affluent life at a manor—or staring at a blank wall in its Asylum.

The sound of footsteps walking crisply and with a purpose shook him from his thoughts. He wondered vaguely how long he had been sitting there, lost in thought, when the footsteps suddenly stopped. Bruce turned and there was a rather prim looking, dark-haired woman with a clipboard and a doctor's lab coat staring at him through small, rimless glasses.

"Mr. Wayne, good to see you up and about." She had a no-nonsense voice, and to his surprise, the guards opened the glass door and (reluctantly) let her in.

Bruce got up quickly, wondering what sort of power she wielded to do this in such an unorthodox manner. She was his doctor, obviously, but he had never seen her in Arkham before. Must be new. Or another player in this game.

"And you are?"

"Miss Veronica Winters, your psychologist—your doctor, Mr. Wayne. I do say I had to fight to get you as my patient, there were throngs of lovely young women doctors all over this country just dying to get in my position," she smiled tightly. She wasn't old either, possibly his own age or less, and she did have fine features. But at least the reason why she new was revealed.

"And of course, you have all the ambitious rest who wanted to do a case study on you. There's probably a thousand academic papers being published as we speak on the billionaire playboy who had such a need to play dress up and jump off buildings."

His initial liking for her fell considerably. He was going to play Bruce with her. Not Batman. Not give her the pleasure. She, as a top doctor who certainly fought her way to get here, would be able to figure him out as Batman, no doubt. And he didn't need any Chase Meridian type lectures from her. She was expecting the dummy, he could tell from her condescending tone. He'd give her the dummy.

"I'm sorry, Miss Winters, but is there any reason why you need to tell me all of this? I kinda know who I am already."

"Do you, Mr. Wayne? That's the question. Do you?" She smiled another humorless smile. "We'll take lunch in my office after we talk. Come with me."

Bruce grinned, playing the part. "No cuffs? No being carried by armored personnel in case I try to escape?"

"I trust you, Mr. Wayne," she turned and her hard heels clicked on the floor as she walked through the door. Bruce reluctantly followed, not sure what to make of this person. She certainly had power and that could be exploited, but to whom would it be exploited to? He walked behind her as he heard what sounded like a billion guards following the both of them, several in the front surrounding them. Even if he did try something, take her hostage, he'd be covered in an instant. The thought did cross his mind pleasantly, though he knew it would just get him taken down and obviously prolong the answers he wanted from her. He was her little _science project_ and it irked him to no end.

They turned into another depressing hallway and ended up at her office. The battalion of guards surrounded the outside of the room, and Bruce followed her in, noting the cameras instantly and a small vanity mirror on a wall that was most likely a two-way. There were no windows in the office, and in reality, it probably wasn't her actual office but merely a meeting room with patients with no sharp objects anywhere for them to threaten someone with. A soft but moldy-looking green couch was on one side, a thick wooden desk and an obligatory psychologist's lounger.

"Have a seat," she offered a bolted down 70's style office chair as she took her own behind the bolted-down, heavy wooden desk. A few papers and his thick file were on the desk. He wondered how nervous they were about them having pens around him. No paper clips in sight.

"Let's get started."

"Sure, don't have much else to do."

An eyebrow rose at the cocky, schoolboy tone. Exactly what she expected—but, somehow unexpected. As if being revealed as Batman was just a little mishap on the way to work in the morning, like spilt coffee.

"Why don't you tell me how it started? Was no doubt the death of your parents," she scribbled something down on the clipboard. "Report of you falling into a well with bats…you obviously wanted to fight crime because of their death. A noble cause. Why did you not become a policeman?"

"Dunno, didn't want to?"

He was playing the game. Both eyebrows raised. Alright, two could do this. She would make him _become_ Batman, she would get what she had worked so hard for. A smile played on her thin lips, as she flipped through the file.

"Bats, Mr. Wayne, apparently held much more meaning to you than an incident in your youth. Obsessed with the power they wielded over you, you decided to take a part in this power and use it over others, for the loss of power you experienced as a child when your parents were taken from you. All is a power struggle, Mr. Wayne, in the end."

His eyes were no longer playful. He had turned a bit more serious. A reaction, at least.

"As your power struggle to get me as a patient, Dr. Winters."

"Naturally."

She went on. "Reports have you at a particularly paranoid type, obsessive to no end and a quite a bit of an emotional repressor. Quite unhealthy, considering the types of things that you repress and the strain of the memories of your past."

"You think you know me?" Bruce's humor had totally disappeared, his voice was a bit strangled. How did they know so much about him? It could only lead to one thing. Someone had told them. Who that someone was, he did not know. He really hoped that it wasn't himself.

"Oh, it's my job to know you," Dr. Winters smiled pleasantly, happy that she had finally provoked an honest reaction.

"What interests me most about you, Mr. Wayne, is your obsession with the mask. You know all about the masks that everyday people wear. It makes us feel safer behind them," she tapped her pen against the desk.

"You act different towards different situations. Everyone does it."

The pen pointed towards him.

"But _you_, you took it to the next level and above. I find it absolutely fascinating how you were able to pull of the persona of Bruce Wayne and the Batman, two completely different people. So different, in fact, that I have to wonder about whether you had control over _that_."

"Oh, so I'm like Two-Face now?" He shrugged. The former honesty had disappeared once more and he seemed exactly like before. Careless. Daft, like he didn't realize the gravity of where he was. Or didn't care.

"Well, that's what we're here to find out," she said in a tighter tone. She reached within a plastic bag on the desk and took out something large and black.

The cowl.

Bruce's eyes widened, taken by surprise. He really didn't like being taken by surprise, but in this place it was nothing but. It wasn't totally unexpected, some part of him knew that they must have leapt at the chance to take his suit, but it was still a bit of a shock in this situation.

"I am impressed. Quite a few technicians quit over the booby-traps in this little thing," she tapped the eerie empty head of the black, Kevlar-enforced cowl, its empty eyes staring at Bruce.

"So, what's the point of all of this?" Bruce shrugged, pretending like it didn't mean anything.

"You tell me, Mr. Wayne. You're considered the World's Greatest Detective. You're a genius, the inventions we found on your person are nothing short of considerable talent. Talent that should have been used on the side of the _law_, but we'll not go there now."

"So…Batman's just another rogue villain to you guys, huh?" Bruce was having a heckava time keeping himself cool. "So all that saving lives…all that stuff he did was a moot point or somethin'?"

"Referring to yourself in the third person is very interesting," she smiled again. "There is no need to play games here, Mr. Wayne, we know who you are. Or perhaps its' a habit, no? A habit that you can't break unless you're behind the safety of this mask."

The pen tap against the black cowl. The nearly invisible twitch of an eye.

"Oh, it is a safety, isn't it? Right now, I bet you're wishing…_longing_ to put it on, wishing you had your costume on so you could really tell me how you felt, threaten us and break out of here. It releases who you _really_ are, Mr. Wayne."

The stormy look on his face let her knew she hit a pretty sensitive nerve.

"You want to know who I _really_ am?" Something in his voice had changed. Something in his whole being, his posture had shifted, his eyes—very interesting—like he actually was a different person. Or perhaps this was his true self.

"You think you know _all_ about me, don't you? Just because you have your _degree_, you think you can figure me out in half an hour, then let's get lunch and you write your report?" Bruce's large hands folded as he rested his elbows on the desk.

His eyes held something so different within them, it almost made Dr. Winters forget about science for a moment and remember the superstitions of her youth. Her dark eyes glanced at the creepy mask. She was so interested in the man that she forgot about the legend, the urban myth. Sure, maybe one didn't believe in UFOs or the Loch Ness Monster anymore, but on dark nights when the wind was cold and eerie, one sometimes felt a chill despite logic telling them otherwise. She looked away from his haunted eyes for a moment, trying to clear the silly superstitious thoughts rising in her mind.

"I'd like to think that maybe we can make a deal, Doctor," Bruce said, his intense glare unwavering. It was really unnerving, and she _never_ got unnerved. She wondered somewhere, in a small place within her that doubted sometimes, whether she really did win such a prize taking this man on.

"What deal is that?"

"Nothing much."

"What _deal_, Mr. Wayne?" He was playing with her, trying to make her nervous, and she didn't like it. Didn't like having him take a bit of the power for himself.

"Tell me first. What exactly is going on here? You all know I don't remember anything except when I woke up this morning. How did I get here? What could I _possibly _do to be sent here?"

"You're not really ready yet, I don't want to aggravate an existing condit—"

"As I figured. So the deal is, I tell you about me, you tell me about what happened."

"You tell me first," she smiled.

"No, me first," he said with that steely glare. "Or I won't talk."

"Not to sound cliché, but we have _ways_ of making you talk."

"And I have ways of not talking," he shrugged. "It'll be worth more to you to get an honest response out of me than, what say, drugging me with a truth serum? Because you could have done that easily already. And you don't know what such a drug would do to my already _sensitive_ psyche."

There was a real smile from Dr. Winters. He _was _good. "Fine, Mr. Wayne. I have your word, then?"

"Yes."

"Then, you have mine as well."

She tapped her pen against the cowl again. "Alright. A month ago. Here's how it went."

* * *

******  
Yeah, it's been awhile, hasn't it? Terribly sorry, I know that many of you were waiting quite some time to see the continuation of this. I've got to update faster, don't I? I blame school, and a bit of writer's block. No! Not writer's block, anything but that! It's not too hard to blame school though. XD**

******I want to thank all of you who reviewed as well, I'm surprised at how many people were reading this story. Thank you really, even if you didn't leave any review.**

******Also, much thanks to Esther-Channah for finding the name of the movie that partly inspired this story I mentioned in Ch. 2--"The Snake Pit". Check it out if you can, it's really good.**


End file.
